


so this is love

by seadancegraves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Ficlet, First Time, First Time Together, M/M, One Shot, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Premature Ejaculation, Reunion Sex, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Topping from the Bottom, kissing through tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 17:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seadancegraves/pseuds/seadancegraves
Summary: Every swallows burns his throat, and he hopes, dimly, that maybe his voice will go with it too.He never wants to speak, testify, or relive the past again.Hedoeswant to return to MACUSA simply to visit the cells and punch that psychopath in the face.





	so this is love

The whiskey doesn’t judge.

 

The bottle listens.

 

When Graves goes off on a tangent, and starts fighting back tears, his glass remains silent.

Every swallows burns his throat, and he hopes, dimly, that maybe his voice will go with it too.

He never wants to speak, testify, or relive the past again.

 

He _does_ want to return to MACUSA simply to visit the cells and punch that psychopath in the face. Another sip, another poured glass. Graves tries to forget, but he can’t help remembering it anyway. How happy the boy had looked, how relieved he’d felt.

 

It was okay. They could be together. Credence was here, safe, with him.

Credence had said he would have run away from the church, that he wanted to be free of his evil, overbearing adoptive mother.

 

Graves believed him.

 

He trusted that Credence was strong, mentally and physically to have borne that burden so long. Graves had barely done more than drop the wards and pull Credence into his arms when he felt a searing pain across his temples, and darkness started clouding his vision.

 

He collapsed to the ground, and blinked up at the boy, confused, concerned, and a touch afraid.

“You really _do_ have a weakness Mister Graves.”

 

Graves had swallowed thickly, tasting blood, and watched in unilateral horror as Credence’s face melted away to that of another, blond haired, almost cherubic in it’s wicked glee.

He couldn’t even speak, but all he would have said was the curse of the man’s last name.

 

“Grindelwald.”

 

From there, it was days, weeks, and eventually a whole month before anyone besides the maniac had spoken to him. When Tina Goldstein led a group of Aurors into his brownstone and blew apart the wall, revealing his tired, aching and half starved body inside his own home office, Graves had been on the verge of wishing for death from Grindelwald.

 

Unfortunately, there were things to be done.

 

Business is business, Picquery had said, and Graves had agreed, then handed in his resignation. Credence was dead, therefore, he had served his purpose as Director. He’d failed everyone, and everyone had let him down, left him for dead, by never once questioning the man who stole his face. Only Tina and a visiting foreigner, Theseus’s little brother Newt had noticed something was off.

 

Too little too late.

 

So here he is, spilling his life story into a now empty bottle of whiskey, starting to sway in his seat. He throws the glass and the satisfying crash and shattering lasts a moment before regret sets in. the bottle follows quickly, exploding and flaming up at once in the grate, with the dying fire.

 

He wipes a hand down his face and then staggers over to shut the window.

Graves sure doesn’t remember leaving it open. A stiff breeze is enough to push him over and back, sending him sprawling to the floor, and Graves frowns up at the night sky for a split second before he notices something blotting out the moon, and flying towards him at a rapid clip.

He tries to lift a hand to force the window shut, to throw up a shield, anything, but it’s too quick and powerful. A black and smoking bundle of darkness hits him in the chest, pushing him backwards, skidding on the carpet and wood flooring, punching all the air out of his lungs.

 

Graves’ head thunks painfully into the wall, which immediately puts a stop to his movements, and he prays for a quick end. How did Grindelwald escape so quickly?

 

When did he learn how to fly?

 

Why is he choosing such a strange form?

 

Why not a bat or a bird?

 

Graves opens his eyes after silence takes over, and he realizes the black… cloud thing has backed away, and is convulsing on the floor in front of the fireplace.

How easy would it be to kick it right in there? If only Graves could fucking move.

He watches, frozen, as the cloud takes shape, still writhing and shedding strips of smoke and ash, until suddenly there’s a flash of pale skin, and a long elegant wrist, fingers twitching, eyes pure white forming on a familiar lovely face.

 

Credence Barebone begins to emerge from the cloud of infinite darkness, and Graves is certain he’s going mad. Hallucinating. Drank too much and killed himself.

He casts for a shield, for a binding spell, _anything_ to protect him.

 

The last time he saw the boy he almost died, and he will not be deceived again.

 

“Stay back!” He shouts, and it sounds like a rasp, a plea.

Graves is so tired, he cannot fight for his life again, and hope to win.

 

Not like this.

 

Credence retreats, and curls in on himself, unaware of his apparent nakedness, which Graves has not glanced away from fast enough. Luckily, tangled limbs obscure his actual nudity, and Graves can focus on breathing, and trying to draw on his magic.

The aura belonging to the boy is very different to Grindelwald’s signature, as he thinks about it.

 

The air surrounding him smells like ozone, and lightning, ash and smoke, though Credence is truly all that remains before him now. The only real smoke is coming from the dying fire and Graves still can’t think straight. “Mister Graves-”

 

“Stop. Don’t call me that.”

Graves is being rude, and Grindelwald will not appreciate his attitude, he knows, but he doesn’t care. Credence’s eyes go wide, and begin to darken once more from the opaque white.

He reaches out, and Graves flinches back, realizing too late he has nowhere to go.

 

Just against the wall.

 

Credence follows him, unspooling his legs and starting to crawl towards him, his shadow unnaturally stretching on the floor, as the flickering flames illuminate them both, along with the moonlight leaking in from the still open window and parted curtains. Graves shuts his eyes, unwilling to watch as the boy he loved advances on him, a beautiful ghost who refuses to stop haunting a poor, tired broken old man.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him. I should have fought him. Hurt him. Forced him to reveal himself. But I didn’t. I thought it was you, and I trusted _you_ . I loved you. I do. I _love_ you… Percival.” Credence would never be so bold.

 

Graves musters the strength needed to cast a shield, and Credence blinks, pressing forward, the silvery charm melting over pale bare shoulders. So powerful. He cannot hope to defeat him.

Graves swallows, and his arms go slack at his sides. Death is imminent it seems. So he welcomes it. “Okay.”

 

Credence leans in the final few inches between their faces, and lets his mouth press over Graves’ own. It’s a pleasant sort of kiss, the calm before the storm that will be the pain, the cold burn of the killing curse, he knows. Credence’s mouth tastes like fresh air, and his skin feels cold to the touch. Graves doesn’t remember when he reached out for the boy’s face, cupping his hand against the silky soft cheek, thumb dragging along the sharpness of his jawline.

 

The kiss deepens because Credence leads it, parting his lips, allowing his tongue to trace along the seam of Graves’ lips. He’s wet and warm there, and Graves wants to drown in it.

Dying like this might not be so bad.

 

Credence pushes harder, kissing more fiercely, and Graves melts under him, slumping against the wall, being guided down onto his back on the floor, so that Credence can drape himself over Graves’ body. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, considering his death is seconds away.

 

But a few moments of indulgence can be forgiven, right?

To enjoy this form that Grindelwald has been bothered to take for Graves once more.

 

All the kisses don’t _taste_ like lies, and the hand scrabbling down Graves’ chest, palming down to press over his groin, seeking out the line of his cock beneath his sleep pants isn’t overly eager or experienced, but it feels nice. That’s what matters.

Credence licks into his mouth, and then breaks the kiss.

Hmm, it ended much sooner than he would have expected.

This is hardly up to Grindelwald’s standards of torture.

 

“Percival. It’s me. I’m here. I love you. Please… talk to me.”

 

Graves smiles sadly up at the boy, who looks sweetly earnest and concerned.

How very unlike Grindelwald. “Tell me something only you would know, dear boy.”

 

Credence flinches, “I don’t know. He could have looked into my mind. Stolen my… our memories.”

 

Graves shakes his head, “You’re too smart for this. Credence was powerful, so strong. He had magic, hidden and buried. But I felt it.”

 

Credence blinks, and Graves sees a sparkle in his eye.

His boy is going to cry, and look twice as heartbreaking.

 

“You told me we couldn’t do this. You said it was illegal. But you said it would be worth it, if this could last. If we could be together. You said I made you want to live. Work only aged you. I sustained you.” The way he says it, that’s what stalls Graves.

What makes him wonder. If this could be real.

 

_Maybe._

 

Tears sting his eyes, burn down his cheeks, and hit the wood flooring. Credence still watches him, and Graves puts his hand down, grasping the nape of the boy’s neck, urging him in close.

Their lips meet once more, and Graves whispers against his lips, “Do it now. Please. End this.”

 

***

 

Credence understands a split second later, when Mister Graves turns his head, and bares his throat. He doesn’t believe Credence is himself. After all he’s seen, and watched the other, the wrong Mister Graves do, he cannot say he blames the man.

 

Instead of doing anything he expects, Credence ducks down to kiss right over Mister Graves’ pulse. Strong arms wrap around him, and he can feel the man trembling. “Why won’t you-”

 

“Because… I won’t hurt you. I would never. I love you.” Credence knows there’s spells for anything, everything, to wound and kill and maim. He’s watched the fake Mister Graves fight with lightning, and almost win. Almost kill Mister Scamander and Miss Tina. There must be, therefore, a spell that can heal, and fix, and rebuild. He’s hovered around the city for days, gotten caught in a rainstorm, and only then had he stumbled upon Mister Graves’ cologne on a breeze, so he followed it.

 

He touches the man’s face, wipes away his tears, and tries to infuse warmth into his fingertips, caressing Mister Graves’ cheek. “It’s me.”

 

Mister Graves’ eyes grow less hazy, and the fog of alcohol clearing. Credence knows, instinctively, that he’s been successful, merely by the way Mister Graves’ grip tightens, and he sits up, forcing him back onto his heels. “Credence?”

 

He watches the man’s eyes widen, and Credence can feel the prickle of magic over his skin, as Mister Graves casts some kind of charm over him, to seek out deception and reveal possible disguises.

The feeling stops. “It _is_ you.”

 

Credence smiles, until his cheeks start aching, and kissing Mister Graves is more of an afterthought than a desire. He simply wants to be held again. He is.

 

Mister Graves climbs to his feet, and stumbles on his way back over to the couch, setting Credence down so he can shuck off his robe, wrapping it gently around his shoulders. He’s not cold, not at all.

 

He looks up at the man before he realizes that he’s wearing only pajama pants beneath it, and Mister Graves is naked from the waist up in front of him. He gulps.

“Do you want something to drink?” The man asks him.

 

Credence shakes his head. Isn’t it obvious what he wants?

 

Mister Graves sits down heavily on the couch beside him, and Credence doesn’t quite throw himself back into the man’s arms, but only just. He falls against the cushions, and Credence smiles down at him, “I’m not thirsty, not for that.” Mister Graves looks mildly surprised.

 

Credence emphasizes the want with another kiss, and his arms tangling around the back of the man’s neck. The robe slips off of him, as he didn’t bother putting it on properly or securing it in any way, and the next thing he knows, one of Mister Graves’ hands moves between their bodies, brushing over his achingly hard cock.

 

He’s dreamt of this moment for so long, it’s hardly a shock when he feels arousal rippling down his spine, forcing him to gasp against the man’s mouth, and come with a shout seconds later.

Credence’s sudden release spills onto the man’s hand in pulses of white, some of it even landing over his chest, dripping down his stomach. Mister Graves lets out a choked sort of noise, and Credence inhales sharply. His hips buck down, and he feels the lump of the man’s cock under him, but he can’t touch, not when he’s clinging to Mister Graves with all the power he can manage.

 

“I want you… in my bed.” The man finally whispers, and Credence nods eagerly. “Please.”

Mister Graves scoops him up, ignoring the mess on his skin, and holds Credence close, carrying him down the hall, away from the open window, but Credence closes it without a thought, sealing them away from the world, keeping out any further cold air.

 

He’s set down reverently atop a soft bed, though, to him, all beds are soft if they’re not the floor, and he lets go of Mister Graves long enough to allow him to strip out of his pants, before he’s on top of Credence, pressing him gently into the blankets. “How long have you wanted this?”

 

“As long as I can remember. You were always so kind, so patient, so wonderful.” Credence answers. It takes little to no effort for him to reach down, to take hold of Mister Graves’ length, and stroke over it. The next thing he knows, he’s watching the man fall apart, moments later, a task worth its weight in gold.

 

It makes him a touch disappointed, because he’d hoped, somewhere in the back of his mind, wickedly, that he could bring Mister Graves to completion with his mouth.

Instead, he lifts his hand up, halting the kiss in favor of licking over his fingers, and the man bites back a moan, watching him with eyes blown dark from desire. “Credence…”

“Percival. I want you to make love to me.”

 

Mister Graves swallows, and glances down at himself, as a result, Credence too.

Some of the man’s semen glistens on his thigh, streaked across his hipbone.

“I think that I need some time to recover, sweetheart.” The man says, sounding regretful.

 

Credence feels his face grow hot. “Oh! I know...I could…” He breaks off, concerned perhaps he’s said the wrong thing, and Mister Graves licks his lips, gently rolling off of Credence to rest on his side, leaning on his elbow.

 

“You could have me. Of course. There’s a couple spells that might, uh, ease the way.”

 

Now Mister Graves is the one who’s blushing, and Credence thinks he’s never seen something more beautiful. “Are you sure?”

Mister Graves blinks, “Quite. I should think… I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

 

Credence kisses him again, long and slow, before breaking away to rest his forehead against the man’s. “Whatever you want of me, I will give it.”

 

Unnecessarily dramatic of him, he knows, but when Mister Graves pulls him close and urges him on top, he goes. He’s slotted between the man’s legs before he’s aware of what’s happened, feeling the rush of magic over him, something cool and slick on his cock, already half hard once more.

 

He doesn’t have to look, only touch, to know that beneath the man’s own groin there will be more of the same, but warmed by his body heat. Credence _does_ touch, eventually, and he feels Mister Graves react with a flutter of muscle, and a moan in his his throat.

 

Two fingers slide in with relative ease, and Credence marvels at how _hot_ and tight he feels, despite magic clearly helping, and he wonders how long he can possibly last once _inside_ the man.

“Please don’t tease an old man, dear boy.” Mister Graves murmurs, and Credence smiles, kissing him, and then dipping down to suckle a mark on his neck, putting his hand to his cock, lining up, and thrusting home in one move.

 

It is as overwhelming as he expected, moreso, even, and Mister Graves holds him so tightly, as if he no longer believes Credence to be fragile.

 

He adores it.

 

If anyone is breakable, it’s Mister Graves. So Credence goes slowly, and begins to pull out and push back in with seconds in between every movement, until he feels nails digging into his skin, and Mister Graves’ breath is hot on his skin.

“Faster, harder, I want to feel you whenever I walk tomorrow.”

 

Credence gulps in a fresh lungful of air, bringing himself focus, and renewed determination.

“Yes sir.”

 

Mister Graves barks out a laugh, which tapers off into a groan, when Credence’s cock brushes against something inside the man that clearly feels good, his ass tightens around him, and sends shockwaves of bliss throughout his body. His hands brace on the sides of Mister Graves’ shoulders, and every roll of his hips in makes a slick noise that should be obscene to his ears.

 

Instead, he relishes it, and commits every sigh and moaning whimper to memory, even the ones he’s emitting. Mister Graves’ hands move from his back down to his waist, and then fingers are slippery on his ass, groping none too gently, massaging over his cleft. Credence swallows a shout, and instead buries his face in the man’s neck, biting his shoulder when he eventually comes, spilling hot and thick into the heated grasp of Mister Graves’ hole.

 

One of the man’s hands leaves Credence’s body to move between their stomachs, jerking hard and fast over himself, so that he comes again a moment later, shaking apart under Credence, making his aftershocks linger as he remains inside the man until it’s uncomfortable, and he must withdraw.

 

He falls onto his side, and Mister Graves pulls him flush to his chest, his arms long since given out, as his knees ache too. Sex is much more work than he anticipated, but he loves it. Every wonderful second. He just needs more practice, he thinks.

 

Mister Graves will probably be happy to help with that. Credence drags a hand over the man’s chest, hair matted to his skin with sweat from the exertion, and there’s a purplish red mark blossoming on his neck. Credence smiles. He did that.

 

“Well, how are you feeling, my darling?” Mister Graves’ voice sounds rough, not unlike it did when he was still drunk. Credence blinks up at him from where he’s been tucked right over the man’s heart.

 

“Incredible.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it. You know, I love you too, Credence.” Mister Graves says it, and the truth rings clearer than any bell in the cold of night. He smiles, and nestles in, cheek pressing into Mister Graves’ shoulder. He’s known all along, he somehow suspected.

 

It’s good to hear it said out loud too.


End file.
